


A Dead Man's Heart

by VespidaeQueen



Series: A Dead Man's Heart [1]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Dreamwalking, F/M, Jealousy, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-31
Updated: 2011-07-31
Packaged: 2017-10-22 00:26:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/231620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VespidaeQueen/pseuds/VespidaeQueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is emotion that changes a spirit from what they are, and love warps just as much as anger and hate. Trapped within Anders' mind, Justice sees a world he is not a part of and loves a woman who he can never touch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Dead Man's Heart

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for this prompt on the kinkmeme: _Justice and Anders being stuck together has changed both of them a lot. What if Justice was the one who fell in love with Hawke? rather than or at least more than Anders._

 At first, he has no concept of love. He is simply  _Justice_ , a single virtue, nothing more.  Within the Fade this is what he is, and he is content to be as such.    
And then he is no longer in the Fade, but trapped within the corpse of a man. And he can feel the echoes of this man, of  _Kristoff_ , and this changes him. He remembers a life of emotion and beauty, but more than anything he remembers this Warden's love for a woman. 

And this is something that Justice has never experienced before.

It is a frightening thing – and even  _ that _ is new, this feeling of  _ fright _ –  but he can exist with this new addition to himself. He comes to realize that these things in the mortal world – these emotions, the tangibility of the land around him, the songs of lyrium – are beautiful. Terrifying, but beautiful.

When Aura touches his face in the Amaranthine Chantry, the slightest brush of her fingers over his decaying skin, Justice feels that echo of Kristoff's love for her, a faded feeling that sparks within him. It is something not his own, and yet he finds it beautiful. And, even more than finding it beautiful, he finds that he also wishes to feel this emotion as his own.

But Kristoff's body decays, rots away, cannot be held together by Justice's will alone, and he knows that he must leave soon. There is a sense of fear in this as well, but not simply the fear that his essence will dissipate into the mortal world. No, he fear the loss of these emotions, of this sense of... _humanity_ that Kristoff's memories have instilled in him. He looks at this world, at the injustices within it, at the anger and hate and fear, how these mortals cannot see the beauty that is around them and held within them, and he wishes he could do more. He is Justice, but he cannot do much, trapped as he is within the failing body of a dead Warden.

But then there is Anders, this fragile mortal who goes through life with a smile upon his face, who avoids the things that cause him pain even as his words are laced with a bitterness at the things the world holds for him, at the situation that all mages must endure. This is a man who could act, but does not, and as the two speak of things, so many things, something becomes clear to Justice. This mage  _could_ be more, but he does not think that he can. He cannot look outside of himself for fear of what lies there.

Together, perhaps, they could do more. Anders is a burning spark of humanity and possibility, and when Justice tells him of his proposal, the man does not back away.

And,what began with the remnants of Kristoff's heart continues with Anders'.

 

*

 

At first, there is no difference between them. In those first moments, Justice and Anders are the same, their thoughts intertwined. There are no spaces, no individuality. They meld into one another, spirit and mortal, and who they were before is no more.

It is not until Anders panics and pushes himself to the forefront of their minds that they become separate, and this is the first time that he realizes something has gone wrong. He can see what Anders sees, the aftermath of their rage, the bodies strewn around them and the blood that stains the snow.  _This_ is not what he had wanted. Not what  _they_ had wanted.

There are dead Wardens all around them, and they cannot remain here.

They cannot stay in Ferelden.

 

*

 

Being part of Anders is very different from inhabiting Kristoff's corpse. There are no echoes here, every emotion is vivid and  _alive_ . Fear, anger, hate – but also joy and happiness and lust, so many things that Justice has never experienced before. It is brighter than the songs of lyrium, so much more immediate and  _real_ , so much so that Justice can hardly bear it.

Is this what he had wanted?

He does not know for certain, but he can feel what Anders feels. Every bit of it. But it is so very different from before. Justice sits in the back of Anders' mind, but he is not in control. This is not his own body, and Anders' mind has a stronger connection to it.

But he knows now why Anders had agreed to this joining. There is a letter, received only days before all of this had happened, and it is from someone Anders cares for. A mage, trapped in Kirkwall. Trapped in some place called the Gallows, where the threat of tranquility hangs even more immediately over the heads of the mages there than in the Ferelden Circle. And this rite is something Anders fears, for it takes a mage and separates them from the Fade. Their beautiful humanity is stripped away in an instant, never to return.

It is an injustice. Such an injustice, and something that pains Anders. This man –  _Karl_ – is important to him. Justice feels the memory of something like Kristoff's love for Aura, though it is not the same. Affection that has come from knowing this man for years, perhaps? And guilt, he thinks, for something that Justice cannot place. He does not know how the feelings of mortals change, and this is not the same thing that Kristoff's memories had left him with.

He cannot understand this. There are too many variations of emotions, too many nuances. But he knows that Anders cared for this man – still cares for this man – and that they must go to him.

They must go to Kirkwall.

 

*

 

And this is where he meets her, in a dank, musty clinic in the worst part of Kirkwall. He has been with Anders for some time, growing used to being a presence within his mind, learning where the two of them overlap and where the two of them are separate. They are not completely the same being, but they are also not purely different. There are places where they are nearly as one, bits of their minds knit seamlessly together.

But they both notice someone enter their clinic, several someones, armed and armored. It is a threat – perhaps one of the many gangs that plague the streets has caught up with them. And they are ready – both of them are ready – to defend this place.

It is one of those odd, strange moments where Justice rises closer to the surface of Anders' mind, his own self bleeding out of this body that they share. It is the anger and sparks of fear that push him forward, the main emotions that seem to tie them together. 

Then there is a woman standing there, speaking to Anders, and she is a threat. Anders feels this and Justice feels this, and he is not certain just how dangerous she is. He must be ready to -

But she is talking, just  _talking_ , and they are confused. She asks for maps of the Deep Roads and Anders is not willing to simply give them to her.

But maybe she can help them, Justice thinks, and Anders thinks, and neither of them are completely certain who it originates from. They must meet Karl that night, and if something is to go wrong...well, Justice is not certain that the two of them alone will be enough.

They do not expect her to agree.

And then...and then she does.

 

*

 

He should have picked up on the fact that she is a mage much sooner than he does, but it is not until they are in the Chantry and have been attacked by Templars that he realizes what she is. Neither he nor Anders realized that the long blade she carried was actually a mage's staff, and they do not do so until they see her wreath herself in lightning that spills from her fingertips and brings Templars to their knees.

But that is getting ahead of himself, and it is still strange, this linearity to how the mortal world works. Time is strange here, so very unlike how it flows in the Fade. It is easier for him to focus on the flare of emotion, either in Anders or in himself.

And when Anders sees Karl standing there, his forehead branded with a symbol that encompassed so many of the mage's fears, there is _so_ much emotion. Anger, hate, and grief, with such self-loathing overriding everything as he realizes that the have come too late.

These are not the things that Justice feels, and yet they are. He is overwhelmed by Anders, the feelings fueling him, and when he hears the woman's warning – _there are Templars_ – he bursts free.

Only...it is not exactly _Justice._ It is the same being that had been there in those moments after they had first joined together, this seething, corrupted thing, justice untempered by compassion, comprised of anger and hate and grief – _so_ much grief – and it is at once both of them and neither of them.

It is something that is Justice and yet not, and while he is technically the one in command of Anders' body in those moment, there is something that changes the very core of what he is, stripping away all of his control.

But this woman...while her eyes go wide at the sight of them – at the sight of _him_ , the blue cracks that open along their skin and the smoke that surrounds them – she does not turn on them. There are Templars and her attention turns to _them._ And she fights _them_ , taking Templars to the ground with her magic and the bladed end of her staff, the electric tang of magic thick in the air around her.

And yet it is in a later moment, after Anders is back in control, after Karl has died in their arms, after they have returned to his clinic and Anders has told her of their situation – there is this moment where they both expect her to turn way from them. She is a mage, she knows of abominations, she could easily decide that this is what they are and decide that she will have nothing to do with them. What they are is too close to what mages fear becoming, too close to what _Anders_ fears becoming, and they expect her to leave them and never look back.

But she doesn't. She sits beside them for a time, just talking to them – no, to _Anders_ – and there is this little spark of emotion that wells up within them as she continues to meet their eyes and even smile at them despite knowing what they are. Justice cannot identify what this emotion is, this delicate, new feeling, and he cannot say who feels it first. And there is this confusion that he feels, and _that_ is his own, he thinks.

This woman – _Hawke_ – is the first to learn of their secret, and she has not turned them away.

 

*

 

The thing is, Justice is trapped. Within Anders, within his mind, and he cannot get free, not without taking the risk of what Anders' anger might turn them into. But it is not always his choice, he finds, it seems that he is tied to some of the worse things that lurk within the mage, coming free in the moments when Anders feels most threatened or vulnerable.

But then there are the moments when they see something unjust, where Justice's very nature compels him to come forward. And as their cause is that of the mages, it is injustices against them that bring forth the most anger and rage and hurt, and that is when Justice is most able to break free.

Being held within this body, unable to communicate with anyone beyond Anders, it is such a terrible feeling, but this is a thought that he does not share with the mage. He does not wish to trouble the man further, his emotions already tumultuous in both the aftermath of their joining and in the weeks after Karl's death.

And this is also where he finds the differences between them – Justice can feel Anders' pain at losing the man, and it pains _him_ as well, but not all of Anders' affection has been transferred to him. While their cause is a shared one – the liberation of mages, the ending of the tyranny of the Templars and Chantry – they are not as singular in their individual feelings.

And this, then, might be where it starts. Anders mourns, but Justice does not. In those days that they first come to know Hawke, while Anders can look at her and find her an attractive woman, there is nothing within him that sees her as anything more than that. And as for Justice...well, he does not fully understand this concept of 'attraction'. He imagines it is like the call of lyrium or the spark of emotion, and when he thinks of Hawke it is not anything of how she looks that draws him in. It is, rather, the way in which she speaks to them, how as they follow her on her adventures she proves herself to be a champion to mages.

There are little things that she does, little things that blur together because there is little he can do to accurately determine when they happened, but they amount up to something that sits within Justice, something that sings to him like an emotion, but he does not understand it. He concludes that it _must_ be something of Anders' that he is feeling, for it could not possibly be something that is his.

But he feels this _want_ – he thinks that is what it is – to speak to her, particularly after they finally manage to track down the half elven mage boy, the one who's magic sings so loudly and strangely, who is tied so strongly to the Fade.

Despite the protests of the white haired elf that follows her, she does not send the boy to the Gallows. She does not even seem to consider it.

He will go to the Dalish. He will be free of the Templars.

And there is such... _gratitude_ , this sweeping relief that is something of both Anders and Justice. They have not known her long enough to truly gauge what she will do in situations, but with this she shows that she will stand for mages. That she can.

He wishes to speak to her, to try to convey what this action of hers means to them, but he is trapped within this man, unable to utter a word.

It is a torment, and one he can do little about.

It is later and they sit in their clinic, Hawke at their side. She sits upon one of the cots that has been set up for healing, though she is not injured; her feet swing idly as she smiles at them. Warmth builds within Anders' chest at this smile, something shared by the two of them. There is a lightness to how she speak, her words much like how he remembers those that Anders used to say, back when he and Justice were separate. Though...no, that is an unfair comparison. There are similarities, yes, and this is something he has noticed. The humor used to cover for other things, hiding hurts. He does not quite understand this – this humor deflects from the truth of one's words, obscures meaning, and he is glad that Anders does not speak quite as he used to. Justice does not... _approve_ of hiding meaning like this.

But she speaks of the Circle and her sister, and some of this humor fades from her voice. She is the last mage in her family, but there were two more. Two more apostates who defied the Chantry and lived free.

She might not know the horrors of the Circle as Anders does, but she knows the terror of fleeing from Templars, of living in fear. Knows that a boy such as the half elven mage – knows that _no_ mage - would thrive within the confines of a place such as the Gallows.

He wants to tell her what this means. But he cannot.

The conversation slides from topic to topic, things that Justice does not quite understand. Anders laughs, happiness bubbling up within him. There is an ease to how the two speak that Justice has not yet seen in any other of the conversations he has witnessed from behind this man's eyes.

And Justice...he _wants_. Just to speak to her. Just that. This happiness that Anders feels, Justice wishes to feel it as well.

The conversation twists, something that Hawke says striking at a memory hidden within Anders, something that is an old hurt, but one that still pains him. _Family,_ Justice thinks, _and loss._

There are cracks that show, little places for him to slip through, and it is a combination of this vulnerability in Anders and Justice's want for a moment of his own that allows him to come to the forefront. For a moment, and only a moment, this body is his, and he can move and speak and -

And yet whatever it is that had changed them before comes back, and Justice is twisted by anger and hurt. He is barely aware of what this body says, and he sees Hawke flinch away from him just the slightest, the glow that emanates from this body highlighting her skin in blue.

“Anders, you're glowing,” she says, and it is so different, hearing what she says while he is in control of this body. He opens his mouth – and it is so different, moving within a body that is not dead, that can still move as a body is supposed to move and is not at the risk of falling to dust at any moment – but Anders fights his way forward and he is pulled back, those few moment of freedom slipping away.

He hears Anders apologize to this woman that sits before them, and she sets a hand atop theirs as they try to pull away from her.

It is all right, she tells them – tells _Anders_ – and Justice is trapped once more and cannot speak to her.

 

*

 

It is like living within a bubble, seeing things, experiencing them as though from a great distance. Words are like echoes, images muted and indistinct. He sees and hears, but he does nothing, the world around him something that he cannot touch.

But it is not all terrible. He and Anders...for all that there is something not _right_ about this, they are so much stronger together. They can do things that neither could do without the other.

He gives Anders a sense of purpose, a drive that the man did not have before. Together, they are the cause of mages. Together, they can change this world.

He does not think that Hawke truly understands this, not yet. She looks at them and sometimes, when Anders speaks to her, when the cracks open up and Justice is allowed out, she has this look upon her face as though she cannot comprehend just how bad things can be. She has been hunted, yes, has lost those dear to her, but she has never been shut up within a tower, never been stripped of her magic again and again and _again_ just because a Templar so willed it.

She knows fear, but not the reality of it, not as Anders knows it.

He fears that it is a trap, when she tells them of a letter sent to her, one asking for help from one who has shown themselves a friend to mages. He fears and Anders fears, but they will not let her go alone.

Hawke takes the pirate woman who Justice knows from Anders' memories and the blood mage with them – he does not understand why she trusts these two, only that she does.

He is glad to see that the broody elf is not here. If this is, in fact, _not_ a trap, then it is best not to risk bringing along one who despises mages.

But when they arrive at the specified location, they are met by a Templar.

And it is a trap, he knows it is a trap, Anders knows it is a trap, and yet Hawke is walking straight into it. And they are ready – _he_ is ready – to do whatever is necessary to keep this Templar from harming her.

Hawke looks to them and sets a hand to their shoulder.

“Let me talk to him before you start glowing,” she tells them.

_Trap, trap, trap_ , he sings within Anders' mind and the mage struggles to hold him back. It is hard, because they are both in agreement on this. But Anders is insistent that they do not show what they are to a Templar, and while there is this seething anger that any Templar should be allowed to live and inflict further abuses upon mages, they cannot risk this. Not yet.

And it is with a sort of dawning awe that they realize that this Templar is trying to help. There are mages within the cave, and he wants to save them. No, not save them – he simply wishes for them not to be killed.

And Hawke...will do anything to keep these mages safe.

The smile that appears when she insists that she will help them– and it is a small smile, barely gracing their mouth – is both Anders' and his own.

 

*

 

It is after this – or maybe it is another incident, Justice cannot truly know, his sense of time still so different from that of the mortals around him – that Anders' thoughts of Hawke change from viewing her as a friend to something very different. It is odd and strange, and while Justice is not unfamiliar with the _idea_ of these sort of things, it is something entirely different to inhabit a body that wants and desires and _lusts_ , things that are not virtuous, things that Justice still thinks of as tied too strongly to the demonic.

There is an odd sort of connection between their minds – they are each able to think differently, though most times the thoughts of one will direct the thoughts of the other without the other consciously realizing it.

And this is one of the moments where neither of them will ever be certain whose thoughts were directing the others.

But it starts with this: thoughts of Hawke. One of them thinks of her, one of them dwells upon their memories of her. Justice thinks of her and of mages, and of how she is good and right and _just_. And Anders thinks of her smile and the touch of her hand to his, her laugh and the flash of mischief in her eyes. Or perhaps they each think of both, the abstract and the tangible, things physical and not. Their thoughts are no longer always upon the writings they labor over in the midnight hours when this body refuses to sleep, or on the plight of mages. 

They become distracted by her.

But then Anders' thoughts – and it _must_ be Anders, it cannot possibly be Justice, for these thoughts are not those of a virtue, they _cannot_ be – turn to other things, remembering the briefest touch of her skin to theirs, imagine what it would be like to pull her to them, to cover her mouth with theirs, to tug aside cloth and armor and run fingers across planes of warm skin -

These are not the thoughts of a virtue. They _cannot_ be the thoughts of Justice. They _cannot_ be.

 

*

 

And this is how things go, for years, with this slow seeping of what Anders is into Justice, and what Justice is into Anders. It is not so much that they are becoming less separate within this shared body, but that there are fewer differences in how they think. Anders is less human than he was before, and Justice is...far more human than he had ever thought to be.

But through all of this time, an eternity of moments, there is Hawke. And she glitters and gleams, a spark of wild magic within their lives, strong and yet like the gossamer threads of a dream half remembered. Justice does not know how to describe her, does not know how to capture the essence of the feelings that well up within him as the sight of her. She is like lyrium, he thinks, deadly and beautiful.

It takes so long to find the words to describe it, but he thinks that these are appropriate. She is like the songs of lyrium to him, and yet like a mortal drawn to that raw essence of magic, he cannot touch her without risking ruin.

Perhaps he has been too long in the mortal realm now, too long tainted by the things not of the Fade. He is not as he should be, a virtue corrupted by anger, and he knows that in those moments when Anders recedes and he breaks free that he is a danger. But he _wants_ – he wants to much – and he cannot exist solely confined within Anders. Not when there is so much beauty in this world, so much potential, so much that he cannot touch.

There is a moment, one of those many moments when Hawke comes to their clinic and spends hours helping them, talking to them – no, talking to _Anders_. And in this moment he thinks a bitter thought, thinks that Anders is all she will ever see, never the spirit of Justice who lingers within.

And yet he cannot help the emotions – and how far he has fallen from what he once was, emotion eroding away what was once virtue and changing it to something else – that creep up within him when their heart pounds faster as Hawke allows her arm to brush theirs. No, to brush _Anders'_. There is nothing here that is about him, about _Justice_.

He can feel what Anders feels, knows his thoughts and fantasies – he is _certain_ that they are Anders', for they cannot be _his_ – and when the mage allows for their – _his_ – fingers to linger atop hers as he shows her the proper motions of a healing spell, Justice feels a surge of something bitter and hateful, an emotion that he has no name for. It is not the hate he feels for Templars, not what he feels for injustice – this is something twisted and ugly in a different way.

He thinks it might be jealousy. But it is wrong that Anders should be the only one to be with Hawke, be the one that she smiles at and speaks to, the one who causes her to linger as the clinic clears of patients.

And he cannot stand it, cannot stop how strongly he wishes for it not to be Anders who is with her in these moments.

And, somehow, his anger and jealousy are enough to drown out Anders and Justice comes to the surface, blue light spilling from their skin – from _his_ skin.

“Anders?” Hawke asks, words so much more clear, her eyes wide. Her fingers linger inches from their – _his_ – arm, uncertain, and if he could think, perhaps he would be able to realize that she is trying to determine what has allowed him out, _why_ he has appeared.

But Justice can think nothing beyond these few precious moments, this suddenly all-consuming need to be near her, and he steps towards her.

“ _Anders_ ,” she says again, backing away, and there is something so wrong about that. Her back hits the wall, and she looks at him without fright, her eyes _worried_. “You're glowing. _Stop_ glowing.”

He remembers the moment in the Chantry when he was still only Justice, when Aura had touched his skin for just the briefest of moments, and he brings his arms up, hands cupping her face. She stills, a breath half inhaled, and he cannot read all of the emotions that cross her face.

The feel of his skin against hers is so strange after being trapped within Anders' mind for so long, and he runs a thumb over her cheekbone, lightly, so lightly. There are tiny imperfections in her skin, he can see them more clearly now, tiny scars and darker spots, the way that her nose is not perfectly symmetrical and slants slightly to one side. He slides his hands back, into her hair, and her breath hitches.

“Anders, what are you _doing?_ ” she says then, and her eyes are so wide, confused and worried and yet not at all frightened.

There are little echoes of things that he can only slightly remember, things that are of both Kristoff and Anders, and he tips her head up just the slightest. Her eyes flutter shut for a moment, then open once more, and the light that bleeds from his skin highlights the curves and angles of her face in blue.

“ _I am not Anders_ ,” he says, and it is _his_ voice that says it.

But then the moment shatters, Anders panicking and screaming within his skull, dragging him back into the darkness, drawing him from all of this, and as the man comes back into control of their body he throws himself away from Hawke, so suddenly that he stumbles, trips over one of the cots that line the room.

And Justice hears as though from a great distances the panicked words of Anders as he demands to know what he has just done, hears Hawke try to calm him even as he grows more and more distressed. She tries to touch his hand, to insist that Justice had not harmed her – and the thought that _he_ would harm her makes Justice's anger spike and makes Anders even more terrified – and Anders pulls himself from her, tells her to stay away. To _get out_ , that she isn't safe here.

Perhaps Anders does not truly know all of Justice's mind, and from the panic that he senses from the mage, Justice thinks that he has mistaken the jealousy and anger from the moments before he took control as directed at Hawke.

And he wonders if, from taking that small moment for himself, he has ruined the chance for any future moment for either himself or for Anders.

 

*

 

Except, she does not stay away.

_She does not stay away_.

And this is strange, a confusion that Justice is not able to understand. Anders seems insistent upon keeping away from her, afraid now, more than ever, that they will do something to harm her. They spend a day holed up in their clinic, Anders trying to distract himself with work. And, to be fair, she does not come back that day.

No, it is the next day – or so Justice thinks, he knows it is a very short amount of time, not months, not years – that they find her in their clinic, sitting on one of the crates stacked by the wall, smiling at them as though nothing had happened.

And Anders insists that she leaves, but she will have none of it. She sits there, legs crossed, hands resting lightly on her knees, and tells them in no uncertain terms that she is their _friend_ , and that she will not leave them to face their demons by themselves.

No, that's not what she says. She tells _Anders_ that _he_ is her friend. And, surely, when she says _demon_ , she must mean _Justice_.

And the word _hurts_.

Anders reels at the force of the anger and hurt that courses through Justice, and he stammers out something about not calling him a demon, but Justice cannot bear to listen to the rest of the conversation. He buries himself away within Anders' mind, shutting out the world around him.

Of _course_ she would think him a demon. It is fitting, that a mortal who he cares for would not be able to understand him. Would think him to be something he is not.

He does not think that, perhaps, when she speaks of demons, she does not speak of him.

 

*

 

But he does not stop... _caring_ for her. Emotion is wild and tempestuous, he has learned, and he cannot stop it anymore than he can find his way back to the Fade. He can hate his situation, he can hate that she does not know him, but he _cannot_ hate her.

And, even if he could, he cannot stop Anders from... _wanting_ her, and that, in turn, seems to influence Justice's own emotions. Desire, lust, and something soft and glowing that reminds Justice of Kristoff and Aura. But he does not want to examine this emotion, not in Anders, not in himself.

He had once wished to have what Kristoff and Aura had. But he knows that is something he will never have.

Instead of Hawke, he tries to concentrates upon the cause of the mages. _That_ is something he can affect, something that he cannot begrudge Anders. _There_ he sees injustice that he can try to fix.

So they help, he and Anders, and many mages are lead by them from Kirkwall. Conspiracies are born, and they dive ever deeper into the underground movement, as those within the city do what they can for the mages who suffer there. And here is goodness, here is brightness, here is _hope_. Every apostate living free in the city, every non-mage pledging themselves to the cause, ever shipment of lyrium sabotaged, all of it means a step is being taken to achieve that shining future that they hope for.

But there are whisperings of a Templar plot, one to turn all mages within the Circle tranquil. This strikes at some of Anders' deepest fears, plays off the terror of being alive and yet _not._ The threat of a colorless world, empty of emotion.

This cannot stand.

But they cannot do this alone, and so, for the first time, they approach Hawke for help in the affairs of the mage underground.

And she agrees.

They take her into the tunnels that stretch far below Kirkwall, running from the dirty streets of Darktown to the prison that is the Gallows.

And this...this is where things shatter and break. Where they find themselves so unlike what they wish to be, so very far from something good and pure.

There are Templars. Templars, and a girl who cowers at their feet, begging for them to not harm her. And it touches something else hidden deep within Anders, at pain and hurt and anger, shame and hate, memories filled with things that the man has never spoken of, and they can let _nothing happen to this girl_.

Justice breaks free, surges into control of their body as rage courses through them, and he is not himself, not at all. He is _Justice_ , for every mage ripped away from their mother, for every single one that has been beaten, tortured, raped, made to so thoroughly hate themselves and their lives that they would take their own.

They are lost within this, lost within their own need for justice – _no_ , for _vengeance_ – and they cannot see the difference between the Templars and those around them.

And there is a girl before them, surrounded by the corpses of the Templars, and she cowers on the ground before them, the word _demon_ spilling for her lips. And she is with _them_ , she is one of _them_ , and they can leave _none_ who would side with the Templars alive -

“ _Anders_ ,” they hear, words that feel like they come from so far away, but within his mind, Anders hears it. But it is not enough, not the words that follow, not enough for Anders to wrestle control from him.

And then he hears something that he does not expect.

“ _Justice_ ,” she says, and he turns his head to hear his name on her lips, turns away from the girl and the bodies of the Templars. “She is what you are fighting for. You cannot turn on her, not when she is the reason you are fighting. _Please_ , Justice.”

And he will never be able to say what it was, whether it was her words or the simply use of his name, but it is enough to break through the anger and the need for vengeance, and Justice fades away as he is replaced by Anders.

 

*

 

He had known that it would happen eventually. Some part of him had known, even from those early moments.

In the moments after they nearly kill the mage girl, Anders panics. Justice panics. Together, they flee, this time ignoring the calls of Hawke, leaving her there in that cave below the Gallows, surrounded by dead Templars.

They run and run and _run_ , through the dank tunnel that stretches below the Gallows, through Darktown, until they come to their clinic.

They have to leave. Have to go...somewhere. Self-loathing runs through them, both of them, this twisted horror at what they have become.

And yet...and yet the Templars are dead. The mage girl is _not_ and the Templars who had tried to harm her are, and they have done _good_.

“No, no, _no,_ ” Anders mutters, taking long strides around the room, hands clutching at his hair. “How can you be pleased? We nearly killed that girl.”

Even if Justice could not feel the panic, all of the emotions that well up within Anders, he would know that the man is deeply unsettled. He only speaks aloud as though talking to Justice in moments like this.

And Justice is _not_ pleased that they nearly lost themselves and killed the girl. But the Templars are dead, the one who had sought to turn every mage tranquil is _dead_. And this is _good_.

“ _No_ ,” Anders says again, abandoning his pacing to crouch before the box that holds his few belongings. “We have to leave. We cannot stay here. Cannot take much. This is trash, trash, _trash-_ ” He throws things from the box, hands shaking.

But they still have work to do here, they cannot leave, not yet. Kirkwall needs them, and they _cannot leave_. But Justice can do little to calm Anders, only succeeding in frightening the man more, and the need to flee grows only stronger.

And then Hawke is there, running through the doors of the clinic, out of breath as though she has chased them the whole way. They spare only the smallest glance her way, enough to know that it is her, before Anders forces their attention back to the objects within the box before them.

For a moment, it seems that she does nothing. Then she steps to their side and sinks to her knees, reaching out and setting her hand over theirs. They flinch – Anders is ready to bolt at any moment – but they manage to remain there, small tremors running through their body as Hawke runs her thumb lightly over their skin.

As she speaks, they still, grip loosening on the small embroidered pillow that is the last thing Anders had picked from the box.

There are two things that Justice latches onto in the ensuing conversation. The first is that there _was_ a plot to turn all mages in the Circle tranquil. It barely matters to him that it had gone no further than the Templar who had proposed it; it _existed_ and, as such, had been a threat. Their excursion into the Gallows had been justified, regardless of what outcome had occurred.

The second is that Hawke will not abandon them over this.

_She will not abandon them._

He can feel Anders' shock; it is mirrored in his own. She has seen what they have become, how them joining so as to better the cause of the mages has turned them into something dark and terrible, and yet she does not leave.

Anders thinks she is stupid and stubborn and so, _so_ beautiful, And, in this, Justice has to agree.

 

*

 

And then there is something else that he had known would happen. It comes an hour or a day or a week later, after Anders has calmed and all his possessions have been replaced within the box. There has been time to think, to feel, and the man has made a decision.

Justice has know for some time that there is a beautiful emotion that has been growing within them, caught within the chest of this body, one that glows and sparks. It is something like what Kristoff had felt for Aura, but this is so much more. This is not a memory, not dulled by time and distance.

And it is not just Anders who feels this, though he thinks that the mage might not realize this.

They are in their clinic – so many moments seem to start in this clinic – and Hawke is there as well, and Anders has made up him mind. There are ways out of this, openings that no one takes, and Justice is swept up within it all as Anders steps close to Hawke and kisses her.

And this – _this_ is so much more than what Justice remembers of the moments like this that Kristoff and Aura shared. He only knows the echoes of their relationship, only knows the memories of the other people that Anders has been with. Only knows of the weight of this action because of the meaning placed upon it by the bodies he has lived within.

If he were only a spirit of justice, untarnished by the world and the emotions of mortals, he would think nothing of this. Feel nothing as Anders presses his lips to Hawke's, nothing as she grips at the feathers upon his shoulders, feel nothing in the later moments where they are no longer within the clinic but within her estate, where clothing is shed and skin slides against skin, where hands and fingers and mouths touch and explore.

But he is no longer that simple spirit of justice that he used to be, and he _does_ feel. Feels the sparks that run through them, feels the catch of their heart and the coiling heat within this body. He feels what Anders feels.

But this is not for him. This is for Anders and Hawke, things shared between them, and it is a hollow, empty thing that Justice experiences, but is not truly a part of.

Bitter, twisted thoughts run through him, thoughts that are a darker shade of justice. Loathing, he thinks, for Anders, for himself, for the injustice of his existence. He is trapped within the mind of a man who loves – _loves_ – the same woman that he does. He can see their happiness, _feel_ their happiness. And yet he has none of his own.

For what is perhaps the first time, he finds the beauty of the world around him to be diminished.

 

*

 

In such moments of despair and loss, what is he to do?

He has not felt this before, not this same sense of loss and hurt. Before, he could have lived with just viewing Hawke through Anders, accepting that he would never be able to speak more than a few words to her. He would not have been content, not happy, but he would have been all right.

But this...this is too much. It is not the physical closeness that Anders and Hawke now share, it is how their feelings shine bright and beautiful between them, no longer tucked away in the deep recesses of their minds. He sees and hears and feels, but is not the subject of Hawke's affections.

And that hurts more than he thinks it should.

Justice does not know where it comes from, whether it is from him or Anders, or something that has arisen out of their joined minds, but there it is an almost possessive desire to be the one she cares for. It is a strange feeling, something that is not befitting of a spirit – but then, what feelings beyond the need for justice are?

Damn love and the pain it brings. He wishes now that he had never longed to experience it. Had remained content with the memory of Kristoff and Aura and the beauty of a dead man's heart.

But in his mind there are only two things, Hawke and mages. And so it is to the latter that he turns. He has some control over that, pushing Anders' thoughts towards this cause of theirs. He can do little more than whisper of injustices and watch as these spiral from Anders' mind onto paper, manifestos scratched onto parchment in fervent words and phrases.

In these moments of writing, the late nights where this body of theirs refuses to sleep, Justice finds that he is sometimes able to slip into control, so focused on the manifesto that they are interchangeable. They are not much, but they are little moments of freedom, brought about with harsh lines of writing etched into parchment with a heavy hand.

It almost does not matter what he writes, just that he can. His thoughts are given form on paper, and he can be free for a time. The words that he writes, ink scratched deeply into parchment, are his own.

Hawke worries. Justice sees this and, in turn, Anders worries. More than once, she comes to their side and removes paper and quill from their hands, running fingers over their ink-stained skin. Sometimes, as she reads over their writing, they find her glancing at them with such a strange expression on her face, one that seems lost, confused. And, sometimes, she steps close to them, takes Anders' face in her hands, and looks at him, searching for something in his face.

She is worried, but he does not stop writing. What else can he do? He must do something to keep his thoughts from ever dwelling upon her. She cannot be his entire purpose.

 

*

 

A letter comes one morning, one that Hawke reads over and over. A letter which begins things, the sort of letter that changes everything.

They go to the alienage, and this is where apprehension overtakes Anders, overtakes Justice. There is a boy – a boy they know, the half-elf who has the power to _dream_ – and they must help him.

And it is like the time Hawke asked them to follow her into the Deep Roads – they cannot let her go into this – into the Fade - alone. They can deny her nothing when she asks, though they both inwardly quake at the possibilities of what could happen.

He has not returned to the Fade since being torn from it, so many years ago, only catching glimpses of it as Anders dreams. He does not know what will happen, if they will be so intertwined that Anders' mind will remain the dominant one, or if they will separate once there and he will be free.

There is something melancholy in that thought. If he returns to the Fade, he will lose this world. And regardless of what pain this world might have brought him, he does not know if he wants to lose it entirely.

But Hawke asks them to come with her, and so they will.

Justice is going home.

 

*

 

It is the strangest thing, to be back in the Fade. Everything feels _right_ , for the first time in years, and yet there is something very wrong about it.

He has been changed too much by the outside world, he thinks. He cannot go back to this. Not forever.

_Oh_ , but the clarity here! It is a different sort of life, one born of dreams and magic, and it is in those moments that he realizes that, here, he is _Justice_. Not Anders, not the creature of vengeance that they have become together.

Justice. 

_Himself_.

“Anders?”

And yet it takes nothing more than a simple word from the dream-form of Hawke to remind him that there is something new to himself. He still _feels_ , and being called by that name.

“ _I am_ Justice,” he tells her, voice deep and harsh, more so than he intends. “ _Anders has told you of me._ ”

“Well, _yes_ ,” she answers, and he looks at her then, standing beside him in the Fade. She gleams, sparks, a living soul among the architecture of a dream. “And I _have_ met you.”

It is something about how she says it, or perhaps it is simply that this is the first time that they have spoken without him having to strain to remain in control, but he feels as though he cannot speak. For all that he wants to, has wished to, he does not know what to say to her.

So, instead, he focuses upon what they are here to do. He can feel this dream around them, knows there are demons lurking, knows where this dreamer they are seeking is.

“ _Come,_ ” he says, instead of anything else, instead of taking this moment for himself. “ _Feynriel is this way. He does not have much time._ ”

He looks away from Hawke, steps forward towards where he feels the dreamer's presence. The Fade welcomes him back, enfolds him, the dream familiar and comfortable. Deep within him, he can feel Anders, still there, but so, _so_ far away.

There are others here as well, companions that have followed Hawke here. The pirate woman and the lyrium-etched elf are with them, barely flickers in the corner of Justice's eye. Their grip upon the Fade is tenuous; they do not belong here. They are not meant to walk the Fade, not as he is. Not as Hawke is, the mage a presence that burns through the dream beside him.

These two, they do not understand the traps within this dream as he does. They will not be able to withstand the wills of the demons around them. 

This is something that he knows without a doubt.

They step through the dream, past things half-formed, the imaginings of the subconscious mind. Here, things are transparent, edges blending from one thing to the next. There is not the same definition that is found in the waking world. Beside him, Hawke's form blurs slightly as she passes a hand over the stones of one of the walls, fingertips dissolving away into the dream only to reappear moments later.

He has missed the dreams, the Fade. Missed this.

Then there is a demon, spinning words of honeyed sweetness, lies and falsehoods and promises of power. He feels Hawke's companions waver, and, to his horror, feels the same in Hawke. For a moment, she speaks as though she is considering it.

“ _It is a_ demon. _It deals in lies and empty promises_. Do not listen to it.”

If there is some spell holding Hawke, his voice breaks it. She looks to him, the edges of her form growing more distinct for a moment. She reaches out to him, her fingertips ghosting over his hand, and that slightest touch within the Fade is so very different from one in the mortal world.

“I know, Justice,” she says, and then her fingers no longer touch him, and lightning blooms before her.

The demon dissolves before her, as though it had never been part of the dream to begin with.

 

*

 

There are more demons, of fire and flame, of pride and desire. The pirate leaves them, unable to understand the dream for what it is. The elf, for all his words of how weak mages are, how terrible, is unable to stand before the demon of pride that takes him.

They turn on Hawke, attack her, and he strikes them down before they can touch her.

This is his domain, and they have no power here.

But the demons themselves, _they_ give him more trouble. They are not so weak that he can dismiss them with little more than a touch.

The pride demon, it laughs at him as he fights it, taunts him, revels in how far a spirit of justice has fallen. _You are just like us_ , it tells him. It knows better than to tempt him, knows far better than that, and it can do more harm with words than anything else. Because there is more truth in those words than he wants to admit.

The desire demon is worse, evading him, dancing out of the way of every spell that he casts. It giggles and laughs, whispering things that only he can hear. _A spirit of justice, desiring a mortal woman,_ it says. _I could make her want you. Desire you. But why would she want a former spirit of justice?_ For a moment, it takes on her form and presses close to him, a mocking smile and a touch that stings.

But it is a demon, and demons only lie.

And Hawke is behind him, her magic flaring brilliantly around her, and the desire demon is caught within a cage of light, the illusion breaking, and its laughter turns to screams until Justice casts with Anders' magic. Then the demon turns to nothing within the fire.

“Well,” she says, and he is struck by the fact that it is just the two of them now, the pirate and the elf's spirits no longer within the Fade, “that went...terribly.”

“ _I no longer sense any demons here_ ,” he says, the demons' words and attempted trickery having shaken him. “ _We must make our way to Feynriel_.”

And he is wasting this opportunity, he knows it; Hawke is _right there_ , and he can speak fully as himself for once, and yet he cannot find a word to say outside of the task they have come here to perform.

“Justice, wait,” she says, and she touches his arm again to keep him from moving past her. It is a touch different than that of a desire demon, different than anything he has felt in those brief moments he has touched her outside of the fade. “When Feynriel leaves the Fade, we will as well. Yes?”

He inclines his head slowly, not understanding why she is asking this. “ _Most likely. This dream is constructed by him; should he leave it, it will shatter. Unless we make a great effort to remain, we will wake when he does._ ”

Even within this dream, Hawke's form acts as she would, her features moving as he has seen them do so in the mortal wold. She worries at her lips, catching it between her teeth and looking away from him, out at the shifting dreamscape around them.

“Anders says you think I am a distraction,” she says, and while there is something about the way she says it strikes him as odd, he cannot tell why.

He does not know how to respond to this.

“ _You...distract him from his cause_ ,” he says, and this is both a truth and a half-truth. Yes, she distracts Anders, but she also distracts Justice. But how can he tell her this? “ _You draw him to frivolous things and away from correcting the injustices in your world._ ”

It is strange how, despite knowing her for years, he does not _know_ her. Cannot speak to her as one who has done so before.

“I remind him that there is more to life than manifestos and fighting Templars,” she says. “I remind him of the things that make him human.”

“ _You are a_ distraction.” It is all he can say. He does not want to speak to her of Anders, does not like the dull ache that settles into what serves for his heart. But Anders is all that links them to one another, isn't he? Hawke only knows of him as the spirit who resides within the man she loves, and no small conversation within the Fade will change that.

Justice may love her, but she does not love him. She cannot possibly love him.

“You dislike me,” she says, and, again, there is something odd in the way she says it. He wishes that he knew all the nuances of how humans speak, but while he has learned some he can simply not comprehend all of the subtleties. But, even without knowing exactly what is so strange about how she is saying these things, he knows what it is she has said.

And she...thinks that he does not like her.

And while she might not love him, it somehow hurts to think that she believes he does not care for her. That he _dislikes_ her.

“ _I do not dislike you_ ,” he says, the words falling slowly from his mouth. “ _You are compassionate and just, and are everything a mage living free should be. You risk yourself for those you do not know, simply to save them from what others have suffered at the hands of the Templars_.”

Hawke is silent for a long moment, not looking at him. He wonders if he has said something wrong.

“You glamorize what I am,” she finally says, looking up at him, her features blurring for a moment in this dream. “I am not as good a person as you imply. I'm not...you give me too much credit. I am more selfish than you think.”

This is strange, for he does not think of her as a selfish woman. He wonders at this, at how she could think such a thing of herself.

But he thinks of Anders and he thinks of Kristoff. He thinks of how much Kristoff sacrificed to be a Grey Warden, of his actions there, how he had given of himself until his life had been taken from him. Kristoff had been a good man.

Yet he had not been a selfless man, not in everything.

And then there is Anders, who had not been selfless when they had first met. He had put his own survival above all else, had not sought to help others at a high cost to himself. But he, too, had been a good man. He might not have given his all for the betterment of others, but Justice had seen him do better things than Anders himself had thought he could do.

And, in the end, he had given up his own individuality and merged with a Fade spirit so that he would have the ability to help those around him, to make it so that those born with the gift of magic would never suffer through the things that he had.

“ _Being selfish does not mean you are not a good person_ ,” he tells her. “ _And I have seen nothing of you to make me think you are not a good person._ ”

Her smile is tinged with sadness, he thinks. “You haven't been watching very closely, then,” she says.

“ _Why are you here?_ ” he asks her then, and she gives a start at that, gaze snapping to meet his eyes.

“To save Feynriel from the demons that plague him,” she says, her voice calm and steady, confident in her answer.

“ _But_ why?” he asks her again, and her brows draw together in confusion.

“Because I was asked to help.”

Perhaps she cannot see things as he does. Perhaps she does not understand.

“ _This boy_ ,” he says, “ _this_ mage. _What is he to you?_ ”

“I – _what?_ ”

“ _What is he to you?_ ” Justice insists. “ _He is not tied to you through blood or through a debt. You owe him nothing. Why do you come to save him?_ ”

Again, she is silent, a long moment stretched between them.

“Because,” she finally says, slowly, deliberately, “he is a friend. A friend who suffers for his magic, and yet who should not. Because not every mage is a danger, and not every mage seeks demons of their own volition. Because I might be able to save him, even if I cannot save every other mage who falls to demons.” She lifts her head, looks straight at him. “Is that what you wanted to know?”

“ _You do more than you think you do,_ ” he tells her. “ _And, for that, I cannot dislike you. Not as you think I do._ ”

He takes a step towards her, so uncertain of what to say. He should tell her now – he might never have another chance. And he wants to tell her, of how she has given him a living memory of love. But he does not know how.

Another step, and she stays still before him, even as he reaches out to her as he did so long ago in the clinic, in that brief moment that had been his. Does not flinch as he cups her face in his hands. This might be the Fade, only a dream, but this is what has always been real to him, this world, and he can feel the flutter of magic beneath her skin.

“ _I cannot dislike you,_ ” he repeats, and this is yet another thing that he does not know how to do. But he has memories of this, has experienced this through Anders. He tips her head as gently as he can, almost afraid that this dream-state will shatter around them, and dips his own head down until his lips are pressed to her.

And he does not know what to do. All his memories tell him of things, but to put any of them into use seems an insurmountable challenge. To do anything more than hold her as he is, his lips pressed so softly to hers, seems impossible.

There is a moment in which everything is still, where it seems as everything has come to a stop. There is a breath between them, a stillness in this place where even movement is an illusion.

Then her lips move against his, soft and sweet, and it feels like he has been shocked by some spell, warmth running through him. This is only a dream, and things within the Fade are not as they are in reality, but, still, he savors the feel of her against him, the way her hands come up to tug at his jacket, how he finds his own lips moving against hers, clumsy and unskilled as she angles her face and how he tangles his fingers in the mass of her hair, little threads of a dream around him. Even here, everything created through thought and magic, it is less than perfect and yet far more so than he would have ever thought. Her mouth parts ever so slightly before his, and all he has are the memories of others to make sense of this, but he cannot do this correctly and his teeth click against hers.

He does not think that is how kisses are normally supposed to go.

She draws back at that, and her eyes are bright, the smallest of laughs falling from her lips and a smile upon them that he dares to hope is for him.

“What was that for?” she asks him, that little smile on her lips. He does not fully notice the tone of her voice or the way that she is looking at him, focusing more on the words themselves. And he is struck by the sudden thought that he has done this _wrong_ , that a kiss does not have the meaning he had thought it to, that he should _not_ have kissed her then, that he has already messed this up completely.

“ _It is...a means to express affection,_ ” he says, his words unsteady and halting. “ _A kiss...that is what it means, is it not?_ ”

“Sometimes,” she tells him. “And sometimes it can mean different types of affection. What did _you_ mean by it, Justice?”

He opens his mouth to speak, but then he takes a moment to think about what all she has said, and how she has said it. She has asked questions of him, but something about how she has worded them, something about how she has _said_ them makes him think...makes him think that she had already know – or, at least, _suspected_ – what the answer was going to be.

“ _You...already know what I will say_ ,” he says to her, and she looks down and away from him, biting her bottom lip.

He does not know how she could know. He has never before had a chance to speak to her, to tell her anything. Never kissed her before, never held her.

“I think I do,” she says, looking up at him again, and her smile is very soft, very tentative. “But that's not the point. The point is that you're able to tell me, face to face. Isn't it?”

“ _How can you possibly know?_ ” he asks her, and it shakes something within him to think that this secret that he has kept locked inside, unable to express, has been found out by her, without him realizing it.

“Because Anders figured it out,” she tells him, and that...makes sense. It's entirely possible that Anders had realized Justice was in love with this woman, just as he had realized Anders' feelings for the same woman long before they had ever been voiced aloud. “It took him a long time, you know. And he didn't piece it together until I showed him what you had written in those manifestos.”

“ _What I had...written?_ ” He cannot remember everything he has written, those moments having been him and Anders bleeding together, some of the words written by him, some by Anders, and some by that twisted being of vengeance that the two become in their worse moments. Panic rises – have they done something, again, that is beyond their control? “ _What did I write?_ ”

Hawke's mouth opens a bit in surprise. “I...well, I had _thought_ that was you. Anders assured me it wasn't _him_ , and, well, it didn't _seem_ particularly vengeful. Most of it. There was all that stuff about mages' rights and the like, but that's not...did I just get this terribly, _horribly_ wrong? Maybe Anders was just playing a joke on me and it really was his writing...but he normally doesn't write about lyrium in his love notes, it's more about kittens and things like that -”

“ _What?”_ And it is a somewhat terrifying thought, first that he might have written things in those manifestos that he hadn't meant for another to see, and second because it meant that there were things that he does in those moments when he takes control of this shared body that he cannot fully remember, and does that mean that this creature of vengeance that the two of them has become stronger?

“Songs of lyrium,” she says, and she's not looking at him then. “It's not a very...Anders thing to say. It is very pretty, but I don't know what it means.”

He is struck silent for a moment. Something he has thought so often, that she is like the songs of lyrium, and it has somehow made its way onto paper. A small piece of his feelings for her, and she has seen it.

“ _It means that you are...that you are beautiful and perfect to me._ ” And there, he has said it. He watches her eyes go wide and her mouth open slightly. “ _Is that what you expected me to say?_ ”

She sets a hand over her mouth, giving a small laugh. “Oh, what is it with you and Anders and being overly dramatic?” she says, half to herself. “I expected...well, you _kissed_ me, and Anders was so adamant about...so I expected _something_ , but... _perfect?_ That's worse than calling me a good person.”

“ _Is it the wrong thing to say?_ ” he asks her, worried, again, that he has said something that will drive her away. “ _I have no experience in these matters; I do not know what is...appropriate to say._ ”

She moves her hand from her mouth and touches his shoulder, and just that touch makes him feel as though magic has flooded through him, burning a path along his skin. “Oh, _Justice_ ,” she says, the words barely more than a sighed breath. “It is a fine thing to say. Buy you have a better opinion of me than I do of myself.”

“ _Perhaps you simply cannot see yourself as you are._ ”

Again, laughter. “I doubt it,” she tells him, then raises herself up on tiptoes and presses a soft, lingering kiss to the side of his mouth. When she pulls back, it is his turn to stare at her, for he did not expect her to initiate a kiss of her own.

“ _What...was that for?_ ” he asks, not quite willing to believe that it means what he thinks it might.

She gives a small shake of her head, her hand sliding down his arm to join with his. “It means that I care for you, too, you silly spirit.”

It takes a moment to sink in, for him to understand what it is that she says. It has taken so long, far too long, and at this realization he feels something from Anders. The mage is buried so deeply within their joined minds that he can barely tell he is there, but he can feel...relief. And a bit of annoyance.

She cares for him. _Cares_ for him.

“You...care for me,” he says, repeating it as though it cannot possibly be true without saying it aloud.

“ _Yes_. Yes, I do.”

He wants to ask her why, ask her how she could possibly care for him, but there is such a feeling of elation, the place within his chest where a heart should be feeling tight, that he can do nothing more than dwell upon this thought.

_She cares for him_.

Justice does not know how to express this feeling that wells up within him, only certain that it must have an outlet. A memory surfaces within his mind, one from Kristoff, of a beautiful woman who catches his hands and says _of course I love you, you silly man_ , and he thinks this sudden swell of happiness is something like what the Warden had felt then.

So he takes his cue from the memory of a long dead man and again presses his mouth to Hawke's, wrapping his arms around her until she is held tightly against him. And still he is not so certain of what to do, his lips moving clumsily against hers. A spirit has no instinct when it comes to things such as this, has no need to know these things, and the memories that swim within his mind tell him what he _might_ do, but he does not know what is appropriate. Again, he is surprised when her lips part, her fingers tangles in his hair, her mouth sweet and soft against his. And then he feels the brush of her tongue and _that_ startles him, though he does not draw back.

He does not know what to do with his tongue, with his hands hands, does not know what to do with _any_ of himself. He tries to mimic her actions as best he can, but all he can think is that he is _clumsy_ , that he has no idea what to do outside of what his memories suggest, and there is this...this _terror_ that he is going to do something that will push her away, shatter this little illusion of happiness.

Her lips leave his, and he think that this is it, he has ruined this. He's done something wrong and -

And then she presses kisses along his cheek, along his jaw, and his eyes fly open, the touch yet another thing that is unexpected, and yet not at all unpleasant or unwanted. It feels like magic sparking upon his skin at each touch, and he wonders if that is her, or the Fade, or if that is simply what a touch is supposed to feel like.

His arms tighten around her, hands pressed along her back, and he holds her as though loosening his grip would cause her to disappear. Her hips are pulled tight against his, and he feels warmth run through his entire body.

Her mouth returns to his, her kisses still slow, and yet there is a sort of restrained urgency to them, the press of her mouth against his harsher than before, and he responds in kind.

There is something in the back of his mind, something pressing at the edges of his awareness, and he pauses, draws away from her slightly. And then he realizes what it is he is sensing and he thinks he understands now the mortal need to curse.

“ _Demons_ ,” he says, and he can feel them more strongly now, their presence an unwelcome intrusion into this moment. “ _They are still seeking the dreamer. We...cannot linger here._ ”

Hawke releases a breath and there is an expression that looks like it might be disappointment upon her face. “All right,” she says, her hands lingering on his feathered shoulders for a long moment before she allows them to drop.

“ _This way,_ ” he tells her, and he begins to take a step when he is stopped by the feeling of her hand slipping into his. He glances down, confused, as she twines their fingers together.

“Come one,” she says as he hesitates, and she tugs on their linked hands, urging him forward.

And just that small point of contact between them is enough. For all that he has enjoyed the kisses shared between them, he had never expected any of this. In a way, simply being able to walk at her side, her hand caught in his, is enough.

 

*

 

They find the boy – the dreamer – soon enough, before another demon has tried to enthrall him. He looks at them with large eyes, and when Hawke speaks to him they learn that he can now feel the threads of the Fade, understands better the way that it moves and changes.

Hawke smiles then, at the boy, and she looks happy. 

And then the boy pulls upon something with the Fade and the dream changes, begins to dissipate around them. Hawke turns to him then, and he thinks that this is it, they are out of time.

And he has not said enough.

He has only moments before the dream is gone completely and he is trapped once more within a mortal body, able to see her and yet never speak to her, never hold her.

There are words he could say – that he _loves_ her - but they seem inadequate. They are _Anders'_ words, not his.

In those last moments, the dream falling to pieces around them, he catches up both her hands and presses them to his chest, holding them there above where his heart would be, if a spirit had a heart.

“ _This,_ ” he tells her as she begins to go transparent and fade away, “ _this is yours. For always._ ”

And then the dream is gone.

 

*

 

The single taste of freedom, a single moment to be truly himself again, and Justice finds his place within Anders' mind more of a prison than ever. There are walls there, boxing him in, and he is more aware of them than he ever has been.

And yet...it is not as bad.

In those moments after they wake from the dream, blinking away sleep and magic, Hawke looks over to them and she smiles, the smallest smile and yet it reaches all the way to her eyes, a warm look that she gives only to them.

They are somewhat disoriented from the excursion in the Fade, and Anders tries to rise unsteadily to his feet. To their feet. Hawke is able to stand before them, and she steps to their side, offering a hand that they take, pulling them up. There is a brief, unsteady moment where they place a hand to her shoulders to keep their balance.

And Hawke looks at them, that small little smile on her face, and she takes their hands and holds them for a moment before she presses them to her chest, above where her heart is, and they feel the soft, steady beat against the palms of their hands.

“And this is yours,” she tells them, and Justice thinks that she is speaking to both of them, to both him and Anders. “ _Always_.”

 

*

 

_Epilogue_

 

There is little space left between them now, the gaps between what is Anders and what is Justice having closed to the point that it is hard to tell where each ends and each begins. They are not the same, not yet, but that barely matters.

Soon, it will not matter at all.

The world is broken, and they cannot fix it. They can only lay the ground to work to  _try_ .

They have broken the fragile peace in the city, for it was never peace. They have torn the Chantry to the ground, to force the conflict that has festered there for so long.

There can be no peace, not until the world has changed.

And, for this, they will die. For this, they will forsake love and life, because their own happiness cannot come before that of every other mage.

And just as Anders has grown so far beyond the selfish man he had met in Amaranthine, so has Justice change. He is still Justice, but twisted, warped by humanity, and he cares so very much for this world, seen so much beauty and suffering, and he knows that he cannot sit idly by in a world where every day is shadowed by the Templars and the Chantry. Where even Hawke, with her power and sway within the city, cannot stand against Meredith for the threat that she poses to those the mage cares for.

The world is broken, and they have done as they must.

They sit upon a crate, the wreckage of the Chantry around them, ash is the air, rubble at their feet. Behind them, they hear the sound of shouting – the angry voice of the archer and the harsh sound of Hawke speaking – but they do not listen to their words.

There is nothing left to say, and now they wait for the end.

They have hurt her, this they know. Lied and coerced and made her all but their partner in this crime. And it has hurt them, both of them, to do it. They love her, and yet they cannot hold that love above the rest of the world.

It has been good to be happy, for a time.

They should have simply left her out of this, never asked for her help. But all those choices are now in the past, and now all they can do is wait.

There is more yelling from behind them, the angry rise of voices, and from the corner of their eye they see Hawke turn to them. But they cannot look at her, cannot bear to see the hurt and anger in her eyes. At the end of everything, perhaps they are nothing more than a coward.

They have already told her why; there is nothing more to explain. She does not need to ask who is to blame for this, does not need to ask if this is Anders or Justice, because she knows. She knows them far too well, the intricacies of them. Separate, neither of them would have done this. But together...together, they are dangerous. Together, they are capable of such things.

She stands behind them, and there is silence for a long moment as ash floats through the air. They look before them, at a point on the ground, and while they expect this to be the end, there is some fear left at the thought of death.

“Do it,” they tell her. “Make it quick.”

She makes a sound, a broken little sob, and they hear her footsteps as she walks forward. And this is what they expect: a knife in the back, or a spell that falls upon them and strips them of life.

But she moves and it is neither, her arms coming around them, her face pressed to their shoulder, and they look up in shock, head turned so that they can just barely see her from the corner of their eye.

“No,” she tells them. “I won't. You can't just walk away from this, not now, not what it's all just begun. This is your fight, and I won't give you the easy way out.”

And it is so unexpected, the feel of her arms around their thin shoulders, the fact that they are still alive when they had expected death.

“Hawke...”

“ _No_ ,” she says, her voice muffled by the feathers of his coat. “You're not going to leave me with this mess. You're going to help me put this right, and then we will figure out what to do next.” Her arms tighten around them. “And. I will _not_ lose both of you. Not now.”

“You...you will allow me to stay at your side?” they ask, surprise heavy in their voice.

There is another moment of silence, and they fear that she has changed her mind, that the hope that has flared into life will be for nothing.

“I told you for always,” she says. “I meant it.” Her arms leave them and she steps before them, hand extended. “Come on. We have to get to the Gallows.”

They look at her for a moment, and then reach out and take her hand in theirs. Her fingers curl around theirs and she tugs them to their feet.

“Come on,” she says again, and they follow her out in to the streets of Kirkwall.

This world is broken, but, perhaps, at her side, they can try to fix it.


End file.
